


upside out & inside down

by segmentcalled



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Breeding, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Come Inflation, Communication, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, Flirting, Getting Together, Gratuitous Overuse of Italics, Light Bondage, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Character, Overstimulation, Penis In Vagina Sex, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Resolved Sexual Tension, Size Kink, Tentacle Dick, Xeno, also there is, i swear to god it's not homestuck otherwise, which includes the following
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 21:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21260012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: TheCastlevaniaepisode ofUnraveledstrikes Pat as funnier than it ought to, under the circumstances.





	upside out & inside down

**Author's Note:**

> _don't know where your eyes are_  
_but they're not doin' what you said_  
_don't know where your mind is, baby,_  
_but you're better off without it_  
-[upside down & inside out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWGJA9i18Co), ok go
> 
> YES this was fully an excuse to write smut in a homestuck-adjacent style in a different fandom in 2019  
NO it has nothing to do with homestuck  
NO i will not be taking further questions at this time

The _Castlevania_ episode of _Unraveled_ strikes Pat as funnier than it ought to, under the circumstances.

He’d laughed, when Brian finally came up with a solution to their too-many-monsters problem, and privately dismissed it as unlikely, but Tara had loved it and so off they went. He dragged Pat into the brainstorming session to solicit his feedback, like _which one would be the funniest_ and _what’s something fun I can say about this one_ and _which one do you think is the hottest_ with a goofy eyebrow wiggle.

Pat had pointed at random to anything, anything at all that didn’t involve — dear god.

(Brian chose Pat’s selection for the number one slot — _oh my god Pat you would not believe the Wikipedia entry on this shit_ — and Pat doesn’t know if he should read into it or not.)

This on its own would be no cause for fuss — well, no more than the usual amount — but as October shifts to November, he knows what’s about to hit him, and he’s not fucking ready for it.

He’s handled it before just fine. Honestly. It’s a yearly event, he should be used to it by now, but it is a fucking brutal five days and he can already feel the anticipatory dread building at the back of his throat at the thought. _Mating season_ is archaic, anachronistic, and honestly, annoying, and on top of that he doesn’t intend to — _ugh_ — reproduce, so what is even the point? But it’s not like there’s an off switch for it. Usually he “comes down” with “a case of the flu” and locks himself in his shitty studio apartment for a week and tries not to fuck himself to death.

It would be easier if he had someone to help him through it. He’s never tested it firsthand, but he’s heard that having a partner can make it way shorter, heard that it can take it down to as little as a half-day if you play your cards right, which sounds quite frankly like a fucking miracle. He doesn’t know many others like him, though, and even if he did he can’t imagine being brazen enough to call someone up for this, no matter how unsatisfying his own hands are. He’d bought one of those tentacle dildos, from that goddamn furry website, in a pale imitation, but not even that — 

_It’s because you want someone to come inside you_ his brain supplies helpfully. He brushes the thought away and keeps getting ready for work. He doesn’t need to worry about it. Really. He doesn’t. It might suck a little more this year, when he actively has feelings for someone, but — it’s fine. It’ll be fine. When it hits he’ll call off work and stay home and it won’t be an issue.

It is the coldest day of the year so far, and in retaliation someone must have cranked the heat way up in the office, because Pat’s sweating near immediately at the blast of dry warm air that greets him as he walks in.

Allegra glances at him when he walks in, back at her computer, and then fully does a double-take. He raises his eyebrows, but lifts a hand in a wave.

“You’re awfully on time today,” he quips at her, because she’s usually strolling in a half-hour after him, and makes up for it by being the very last to leave.

“You’re awfully not,” she says back, and he scrunches his nose up at her. She studies him for another moment.

“What’s up?” he says.

Whatever is making her look at him like that, she shrugs off. “Nothing. Brian was looking for you. He said you’re filming for _Unraveled?_ I thought you guys did that already. Like, twice.”

“We had to rework the whole thing,” Pat says with a sigh.

Allegra winces sympathetically. “Good luck?”

“Thanks. I’m definitely gonna need it,” Pat says, side-eyeing the door to the studio they’ve reserved. It’s propped open, and lights are on inside; Pat is sure Brian and Clayton are already in there, setting things up and dawdling as long as possible to let Pat arrive.

Clayton’s on a stepladder fucking with the lights, and Brian’s at the table with the paper cutter, two pairs of scissors, and a sizable stack of printer paper.

“Hey, Pat,” Clayton says, distractedly, without looking at him, and Brian’s head jerks up from what he’s doing.

“There you are!” Brian says, enthusiastically waving him over. “Come help me with this.”

Pat drops himself into the chair next to him, pushes his hair out of his face. “What exactly are —”

“Sort these, will you? I’m busy trying to make them not look like garbage.” Brian pushes the haphazard stack of rectangular cutouts and his notes towards Pat. “Too many goddamn _Castlevanias_.”

“I’ll say,” Pat says, but gets to work without further protest. Shit, it’s hot in here too, which sucks because there’s no airflow and it’s not like they can turn on a fan while they’re filming. But it’s alright, he can just sit here and sort these slips of paper into piles for Brian to conveniently pull from while he’s talking at the camera, and not think about how his back is kinda sweaty and how highly unpleasant that is.

It’s a relief to know they’re definitely on the right track this time. They pause for lunch and Brian shrugs off his jacket, drapes it over the back of a chair.

“You alright, Pat?” he says, unbuttoning his cuffs to roll up his sleeves. Pat’s eyes track the movements of his hands.

“For sure. Why?”

“You’re, like,” he waves a hand vaguely, “all red.”

Pat grimaces. “It’s just hot in here.”

“Is it? I was hopping around in a full suit and I’m not all that sweaty.”

“Are you saying I’m sweaty?” Pat grumbles, even though he knows the answer to that. “Maybe I’m coming down with something. I dunno.”

Brian reaches out, quick as anything, presses the back of his hand to Pat’s cheek. “Jeez, Pat, you really are warm! You should, like — you should go sit down, I’ll bring you something, you go chill out, okay?”

Pat feels something nearly akin to a hum of electricity, where his skin touched his.

Oh, _fuck_.

He lets Brian bully him into sitting at the table, too busy trying not to freak out to protest. It’s fine. It’s fine? It should be fine. He’s got — he’s got time, before it hits him too hard, he can make it to the end of the day. He’ll be okay. Shit. God _damn_ it. Thirty-one years old and it still sneaks up on him every goddamn time. He should’ve checked the weather before he went outside today. Should’ve moved somewhere that doesn’t get winter. Should’ve done _anything_ other than —

Brian returns, with food for both of them and a cloying air of concern. He puts a hand on Pat’s shoulder for a moment, and now that Pat recognizes this for what it is, he feels the contact thrum through his whole body. Oh, dear Lord, this is _bad_. He’s never been into someone and been close enough to touch them during this. Fuck.

The attempts Brian makes at conversation are — well, they’re noble efforts, but it’s like trying to start up an old busted engine, and nothing catches. Most of Pat’s higher functioning is absorbed by trying to stay chill, just fuckin’ _chill out_, keep his breathing steady and his heart rate within a normal range and do not do not do not touch Brian, not even an accidental bump of the knees under the table, _nothing_.

Clayton returns as they’re finishing their lunch. Pat scrolls vacantly through Twitter, to look like he’s doing something other than breathing exercises from therapy in a desperate attempt to soothe himself. Thankfully, Clayton is more open to Brian’s chattiness than Pat is at the moment, so he’s not the center of Brian’s focus anymore. It filters into Pat’s awareness that Brian is explaining that Pat isn’t feeling well, be nice to him, okay?

Pat glances up at them. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Should we get back to it?”

“We’d better, I think,” Brian says, looking him over. He has no idea what he looks like, right now, but he must look pretty out of it, judging by the arch of Brian’s eyebrows. “You sure you’re okay to keep going?”

“Yeah. ‘Course,” Pat says, waving off his concern. If nothing else, he can do this part of his job.

It’s not until they’re wrapping up does it start to become a more pressing issue. Brian keeps shooting Pat concerned looks between takes, keeps angling his body towards Pat’s camera, and when Clayton leaves the room to start taking equipment back to its proper home, Brian crosses over to him.

_No nononono if he touches_ —

He lays a hand on Pat’s arm, the lightest touch, for just a moment, and Pat visibly flinches.

“Oh, jeez, sorry,” Brian says quickly, and puts his hands behind his back, as though forcibly restraining himself from touching Pat. “Are you okay?”

“I, uh,” _fuck_ his voice sounds strangled, “I just need to — to be home, probably.”

“You sound pretty rough,” Brian says, sympathetic.

Pat drags a hand through his hair. He can barely compose a coherent sentence, not with Brian right here in front of him, not with his blood too hot in his veins, not with this pulse of need settling deep inside him.

“Do you need anything?” Brian says, and he’s still too close, too fucking close, and it’s fucking intolerable, if he touches him again he’ll die and if he doesn’t touch him again he’ll die and he _wants_ but he can’t —

Clayton reenters the room and Pat jerks in surprise, though Brian remains still and placidly unbothered.

“Everything alright?” Clayton says.

“Pat’s definitely officially sick,” Brian informs him.

“Oh, shit, that sucks. I’m sorry, man. I can handle the rest of this, if you need to head out?”

“You’re a saint,” Pat says, and Clayton laughs.

“Hey, you’d do the same for me. Go take care of yourself,” Clayton says, and waves both of them off.

Brian sticks close; he has a concerned furrow between his eyebrows and that, too, is fucking intolerable. Pat wants to push him against the nearest wall and shove his tongue in his mouth —

“Patrick?” Brian says, with the tone of someone who’s said his name a few times and he has been too spaced out to reply.

“Mm?”

“You want, uh. You want company on the train? It’s not too much out of my way,” Brian says.

Pat’s eyes flick across the room. It’s nearly empty; a couple people are at their desks way at the other end of the room, but Allegra’s nowhere to be seen and there’s no one near enough to eavesdrop.

“Look,” Pat says quietly, “I’d love that, but I, uh. I was probably just gonna get a ride directly, if I’m being honest. I. I’m familiar with this, and it sucks, and I’m gonna be out of commission for the next week, and you’re probably better off not bearing witness, really.”

“Is it — what is it? It’s not contagious, is it?”

“No. Well? No. Not really. It’s not — I —” Pat sighs, halfway to a groan, and drags a hand backwards through his hair. “It’s weird and stupid and sounds incredibly fucking fake. It’s, uh.” He waves a hand, trying to come up with something that sounds within the realm of plausible. “Weird hormone shit.”

Nailed it.

Not.

Brian arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t press, because he’s not an asshole, even though Pat wishes he would. God.

“I mean,” Brian says slowly, carefully. “If you need a hand…?”

Pat licks his lips, realizes he has done that, wishes he hadn’t, runs a hand through his hair yet again and says, “I — listen. Help with — with this is — it’s not very — it wouldn’t — I can’t ask you to —”

Brian steps closer and Pat inhales sharply and freezes, holds his goddamn breath for good measure, stares at him wide-eyed.

“Can’t you?” Brian says softly, tilting his chin up so his lips are barely an inch away from Pat’s. It is literally physically painful, being this close to him and unable to touch.

“Brian, I swear to god,” Pat whispers, strangled. “I’m not — this isn’t —” He looks nervously around the room again, but there’s still no one close enough to overhear. “I’m not — not what you think —”

“Pat,” Brian says, just as quietly, with the smallest quirk of a smile, “your pupils are the wrong goddamn shape.”

“They’re what?” Oh _no_.

“And your teeth are fucked up in a real fun way.”

“They’re _what_.” Is he really going to have to get a new perception filter on top of all this? Fucking battery-powered bullshit. It’s not even rechargeable, and he needs it if he’s gonna be onscreen for anything, goddammit.

“I’ve had my suspicions,” Brian says, looking very pleased with himself. “Should I continue?”

“Fuck,” Pat breathes. “Does anyone else —?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I only noticed, like, yesterday. No one looks that close unless they’re into someone. Is this — this ‘hormone thing,’ is it a sex thing?”

“We are not having this conversation at work and also what the fuck.”

“I read _Homestuck_ fanfiction at a formative age, my dude,” Brian says, glib, grinning, as he turns away. Pat stares after him, dumbfounded. “Get your bag, c’mon, we’re getting you home one way or another.”

Pat follows him on autopilot, too stunned to do anything else, and as soon as they’re outside Brian rounds on him again.

“So. Tell me, or tell me to fuck off: sex thing, yes-no-maybe, do you want me involved, also yes-no-maybe.”

“Yes and yes,” Pat mumbles, unable to meet Brian’s eyes, staring down at his boots instead. It’s starting to snow, just a little, and the flakes are disappearing on their shoes and on the sidewalk. Brian’s hand cups Pat’s chin and tilts his head back up and it’s like he’s been fucking electrocuted, the way he shudders at the contact. He stares at Brian, breathless.

“Patrick, this entire _Unraveled_ was a massive fucking hint,” Brian says. “Let me help you, if you want me to.”

“Please,” Pat breathes, and Brian grins.

By the time they get to Pat’s, he’s trembling all over with the effort of trying to keep himself together. He fumbles his keys; Brian gently takes them from his hands and unlocks the door for him. Pat keeps both hands wrapped around the strap of his bag, once they’re inside, begging himself to not fucking jump Brian at the first opportunity.

“So what are you, then?” Brian says, as he takes off his coat, his shoes.

“Guess you’d say an alien. _Ex-tra-ter-rest-ri-al_,” he says, articulating each syllable for comedic effect. “‘Cept I was born here. Second generation. We’re, uh, we’re out there.”

“Neat,” Brian says, looking up at Pat with true interest. “So what’s all this about?”

“Mating season’s the start of winter,” Pat admits with a grimace. “Hits as soon as you’re in below-freezing temperatures. Lasts about five days, give or take —”

“_Jesus_ —”

“— but usually once you’ve — once you’ve done it to, uh, to satisfactory guidelines, you don’t have to keep suffering. I’ve. Never personally experienced that,” Pat says with a strained smile. “So. Hence the whole week off I take off every year when it finally drops below freezing. I, fuck, okay, I’m seriously fucking dying here but I need you to be completely one hundred percent on board. Did you want to do this for, like, longer than the previous week, ‘cause there’s fuckin’ — pheromones and shit, and if that’s what —”

“Patrick Gill, I’ve been into you since before I even met you in person. I jerked off to a goddamn episode of _Please Retweet_ before applying here was even on the table. I am so into you. I am so into this. Whatever you need, Pat, I am more than ready and willing to give.”

Pat makes a broken sort of sound at that, and slowly lets go of his bag, so he can take off his outerwear too, moving cautiously, carefully. “You’re sure? You don’t even know what I’m packing. I might turn into a giant fucking snake when I’m horny, who knows?”

“You don’t, though.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, can’t be worse than that. Frankly, Patrick, I don’t need you to tell me. I’d much rather you showed me.”

Pat stares at him in open astonishment.

“Dude. Come fuck me, alright? How much more clear do I need to b —”

Pat shoves him against the wall, knocking the words out of him, crushes their mouths together in desperation. He shoves one hand up Brian’s shirt, the other hand twisting into his hair, breathing hard already. Brian moans appreciatively, maybe a little for show or encouragement, but Pat whines in response and rolls his hips against his thigh.

“Holy shit,” Brian breathes, against his mouth. “Is that —?”

“Take me to bed and I’ll show you,” Pat growls, and Brian shoves him away to get space to move, grabs him by the arm, and all but drags him to the bed.

“Let me fucking _see_,” Brian says, sitting on the edge of the bed, squeezing Pat’s arm. Pat fumbles at his fly with clumsy hands, pushes his jeans and underwear out of the way. His dick — well, not really — what he’s got in place of a dick is a — well, there’s no other word for it, it’s a tentacle, darkly iridescent like an oil slick, and it curls out and up, seeking contact.

“Oh my fucking god,” Brian says, softly, almost reverent. “Can I touch?”

Pat nods. Brian extends careful fingers to stroke over the tip and Pat draws a shuddery gasp; the instinctive response is for the tentacle to try to wrap around his fingers, seeking contact. Brian observes this with unmitigated fascination, keeping him in motion, chasing his fingers. He holds still long enough for it to curl over his fingertips, near-black colorless but for how it iridesces under the grayish light through the blinds, slick to the touch.

Brian looks up at Pat in outright wonder.

“But wait, there’s more,” Pat quips, dryly — or as close to it as he can, breathy and desperate as he is. He takes Brian’s hand, drags two of his fingers inward along the length of him, to the sheath, and then behind, where —

“Pat,” Brian says, on a soft exhale. “Pat, can I fuck you?”

“Please,” Pat says, his voice nearly breaking on it as Brian presses the pad of his finger against his entrance. “_Please_.”

“Okay, baby. Okay. I got you. Do you want me to take charge a little?”

“Can you? Are you comfortable with that?”

“Yeah, yes, of course. How about this: take your clothes off, I’ll take mine off, and we’ll see what fuckin’ wonders we can manage.”

“Or fucking wonders,” Pat jokes, already shoving his pants down his thighs.

“Exactly, Pat Gill. Christ, is that all self-lubricating?” This would be an embarrassing question at any other time, with the way he’s so obviously wet and ready to get fucked, but — well — he’s so wet and ready to get fucked that he can’t even bother to be embarrassed.

“Yep. Vocabulary words of the hour are that and _prehensile_ and _pheromones_ and also _please_.”

“Mm. Some good fucking words, in both senses, I think. I’m ready to take that pop quiz. Get up here, baby boy, let’s put it to _work_.”

Pat is too desperate for touch to hang back and appreciate Brian much with his eyes, but dear god does he feel wonderful pressed all up against Pat. His skin is soft and he’s warm and kinda muscly and his thighs and pecs and glutes are fucking great to get his hands on. He kisses him feverishly, needy, just trying to get any part of him touching any part of Pat, until Brian shoves him down and he feels like he’s going to pass the hell out from overwhelm.

“Jesus Christ, Pat Gill,” Brian says, straddling Pat’s thighs, hands on Pat’s shoulders, fuckin’ looming over him and eyeing him over. Pat groans and arches his back, aching for touch; the thick curl of tentacle writhes and coils against his stomach, trying to find purchase. “God, I bet you’d fucking _scream_ if I tied you up and fucked you, wouldn’t you?”

Pat whines, the sound a little less than human, high and deep in his throat.

“Or I could just shove something inside you and ride you ‘till you’re crying. I bet it’d be easy.”

“Please, _please_, I need your come inside me or I’m gonna _die_, Brian, _please_ —”

“Oh, good to know,” Brian says, grinning wickedly. “I’m triangulating here, please do give feedback. Can I get this inside me at some point, though?”

“Yeah, fuck, yes, for sure,” Pat gasps, as Brian strokes his fingers over him. “Fuck tri — triangul — tr — _nnh, fuck_, it’s mating season, babe, what’cha _think_ I want?”

Brian’s eyes go wide, his grin wider. “You wanna get bred? Is that what you’re telling me, baby?”

Pat’s halfway to frustrated, desperate, horny tears, bucking up against _nothing_ as Brian takes his hand away as he talks, and that’s what finally makes him give. He growls and grabs Brian by a wrist and shoves his hand up between his legs, palm against the base of the tentacle, fingers up against his entrance.

“I think that’s a yes, then?” Brian says, teasing, keeping his balance admirably as he pushes two fingers inside Pat, all the way to the first knuckle.

“Please,” Pat gasps, as he takes them with no resistance, as he rocks against his hand. “Please, please, please, _please_,” he chants, as Brian adds a third finger without even having to slow down, fucks them in and out, experimental. “I need your cock, Brian, god, _god_, I need you inside me.”

“Jesus,” Brian breathes, and pulls his hand away. Pat keens and stares up at him, wide-eyed and wild, as Brian showily puts his fingers in his own mouth, drags his tongue up them, replacing Pat’s slick with his own spit, and —

“Brian, that is the _fastest fucking way_ to expose yourself to straight-up pheremones —”

“Good,” Brian says, low, rough, “I fully intend to keep up with you as long as you wanna go. Thighs apart, baby, there’s a good boy, _fuck_,” Brian appends, as he gets a full and clear view of what, exactly, Pat’s packing for the first time.

Pat’s dick is fully unsheathed, now: a tentacle of, just, an embarrassingly obscene length compared to Brian’s cock. It thrashes and coils against him, leaving faintly shimmery smears of natural lubrication on his skin. Just behind the base, though, is the tandem component of his genitalia, the place that’s responsible for the vast majority of his desperation, for how he wants someone to just shove something inside him already. It’s pink, at the opening, just like his lips and tongue, but the deeper inside — into either cavity — that you get, it darkens to the same shade as the tentacle that is currently making a devoted effort to wrap itself around Brian’s wrist.

“Two for the price of one,” Pat jokes, with an awkward twist of a half-smile. “We’re all built like that.”

“Okay _not_ to get too into sociocultural phenomena and gender and sex and stuff while we’re fucking but, gosh, do y’all not really have that so much?”

“Not really, it’s a human thing that a lot of us have adopted, can you please put your dick inside me now? I will have all the fun gender conversations with you later, but — _oh fuck_ —”

Pat throws his head back and grabs at Brian as he pushes into him. He’s so desperate and he takes him so easily, just a smooth forward motion and Pat clings to him with arms and legs as he rocks his hips experimentally.

“God, Pat, you feel fucking _amazing_,” Brian groans.

“Yeah, that shit’s gonna hit you right ‘bout now, huh,” Pat says.

“Shut up, it’s more than just that, you feel, _hah_, so fucking good around my cock, baby, _fuck_.” Brian shoves a hand into Pat’s hair and Pat moans, rolls his hips up against Brian. “Shit, Patrick, anything else I should know here?”

“Pull my hair. Be rough with me, I don’t give a fuck, I need it, I need you. Hurt me, if you want. Bruise me. I don’t care. Whatever you wanna do to me. Let me take it.”

Brian moans, drags a hand over his face. “_Fuck_. I meant about — if aside from being horny if this is gonna do anything to me —”

“Nothing bad, promise,” Pat says. “God it is _hard_ to give a reproductive biology lesson with your cock in me, you know that?”

Brian winks, saucy as he can manage, and thrusts hard into Pat to see his reaction, which is to give a shuddery gasp and have to dig his nails into his palms to find his composure again. “Wait — question — reproductive biology, right, I’m not gonna — not gonna actually knock you up or something, will I?”

Pat laughs, because the alternative is moaning like a bitch in heat (well,) and showing his whole cache of kinks, and says, “No, for sure not, don’t got compatible enough biologies. Genes. Whatever the fuck. Basically, just — _jesus christ Brian let me talk_ —”

“I’m so sorry it just feels so good —”

“_God_,” Pat groans in despair, “we’re both fucked up on this now, lemme — _ghh_ — lemme fuckin’ tell you, it’s just, even with you helping it’s gonna be, it’s gonna last a while, but that’s the pheromones thing, that’s gonna help you, y’won’t have to wait as long before you’re able to come again ‘n stuff, only good things I _promise_.”

“Oh my god, baby,” Brian says, “this is the hottest thing that has ever happened to me in my _whole entire goddamn fucking life_ and I don’t think there’s a single thing that could conceivably happen right now to change that.”

“That’s the hormones talking,” Pat says, fondly, patting his face. “But I’m very flattered.”

“It is _not_. Shut up and let me fuck you _please_.”

Pat shuts up and lets him fuck him, please.

Brian pins one of Pat’s wrists to the bed and winds the other hand into Pat’s hair and fucking goes for it. Pat whines and spreads his legs further, lets Brian yank his head back roughly and kiss him. It feels — so _good_ — to have Brian fucking into him, hard and fast, holding nothing back. Brian does _everything_ with a singleminded passion and focus and that apparently does extend to doing Pat. Pat can’t keep himself quiet, can’t keep himself still, drags his nails down Brian’s back as Brian kisses and bites and sucks at his lips and jaw and neck, indiscriminately, whatever part of Pat he can get against his mouth.

It absolutely, completely blindsides Pat when Brian wraps a hand around Pat’s dick and squeezes, pumps his closed hand up it once, twice — and then Pat _screams_ as he comes, an inhuman noise that makes Brian’s body freeze up against his before he realizes what’s happening, as Pat bucks up into his fist and grabs at Brian’s ass to hold him inside him as he twitches around him, chest heaving as he gasps for breath.

He doesn’t even get a chance to recover from that; there is no reprieve from his body. He closes his eyes and whimpers as he rocks his hips, caught between Brian’s hand and Brian’s cock, the sensation amplified tenfold in the wake of orgasm. Brian’s grip has loosened on him, touching him now more curious than anything, or maybe a closer shade towards cautious.

“Jeepers, Pat,” says Brian, and Pat huffs a self-conscious laugh and drapes his arm over his face.

“Sorry. Surprised me too,” he says. “_Nnh_, keep doing that — yeah, yeah, just stroke it, you don’t gotta — _ah_. Yes. Sorry for scaring you.”

“No, you didn’t scare me! Just, uh, startled a little. Didn’t expect you to be so loud, wowie. S’good, though. I like it. Like being able to make you do that. Did — did you come, is that what that was?”

“Mmhm. Clearly not, uh, not done yet, though.”

“Will I know when you are? Like, nothing, uh — nothing came out of anywhere —”

Pat snorts, and Brian flushes even redder than he already is. “No, no, it’s okay. You’ll, uh, you’ll definitely know. This goes back inside,” Pat says, “or else it’d look like I’ve got a snake in my pants all the time.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“Yeah. As for — uh — that — it’s all, uh, it’s all super conditional — like — need to be inside something for, like, fuck, for genetic material or whatever to — I mean, you’ll see if I fuck you. It’s not — not a lot — not more’n you guys, I don’t think, or not by much — probably?”

Brian’s eyes are the size of dinner plates. Pat doesn’t know if he’s freaked out or excited.

“But I don’t have to — I mean, if you don’t want me to —”

“I _super_ want you to,” Brian breathes. “And I wanna get that full sex ed lesson later.”

“Monsterfucker.”

“Sue me,” Brian says, and punctuates that by thrusting his hips forward hard, and Pat grunts.

“Point taken,” he says. “I.” He stops.

“What do you need, baby?” Brian says, hesitating, pausing in his movements.

Pat bites his lip, reaches for Brian’s free hand — which is propping Brian up on the bed — and puts his hand on top of it. Brian looks between their hands and Pat’s face and goes _oh_ very softly, then carefully maneuvers himself and Pat so they’re both on their sides, facing each other, so Brian can keep slowly stroking Pat with one hand while he holds the other. Brian presses a whisper-soft kiss between Pat’s eyebrows.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs. “So good for me, sweet thing. You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Pat says, and tucks his face up against Brian’s neck. “Yeah. It’s. It’s a lot. It’s really good. It — I — thank you.”

“Thank _you_, baby,” Brian says, and squeezes Pat’s hand. Pat shifts to drape his leg over Brian’s, and with the change in position Brian’s cock slides into him deeper and he groans into Brian’s clavicle, rolling his hips in tight little circles, loving the feeling, unable to get enough of it. “Oh, god, Pat, that feels so fucking good,” Brian says, his voice wavering at the end. “Fuckin’ — _yes_, love being inside you like this. Wanna make you feel so good. You’re so beautiful. Kiss me, baby, please?”

Pat tilts his head to catch Brian’s lips against his and Brian moans into his mouth. Pat lifts their joined hands to put his hand on Brian’s cheek, and Brian’s fingers find Pat’s jaw to trace along. Pat nips at his lower lip and Brian gasps.

“Sorry, ‘s a little sharp, I know —“

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Brian says. “If I’m not covered in bite marks tomorrow I’m gonna be fucking _offended_ — _oh_ — oh, Pat, I don’t think — Pat — _Patrick_, I’m not gonna last much longer, baby.”

“Okay,” Pat says, pressing his mouth to Brian’s throat. “Don’t hold back on my account, babe. Want you to come inside me real fuckin’ bad.”

Brian groans, low and deep and desperate, thrusting into him out of rhythm, fast and sloppy, uncoordinated, inelegant. Pat dips his head to kiss the side of his neck, then bites at his skin and Brian shouts, wordless, as Pat sucks a bruise into him, as Brian bucks into him and comes, hot and deep and perfect, his fingers digging into Pat’s back.

Pat sighs and tilts his head back, slowly fucking himself on Brian’s spent cock, as Brian shudders and clings to Pat.

“Pull out if you need to,” Pat murmurs, even though he doesn’t want him to. Brian makes no motion to do so, just lets Pat do with him as he pleases. He presses slow openmouthed kisses across Pat’s chest and neck, strokes Pat’s dick in a corresponding rhythm until Pat gasps out a _please_ and then his hand flies over him until Pat comes with a choked-off moan, much different than the first time; he tilts his head back and leans his hips into it as Brian works him through it, shuddering underneath him. It lasts a long time, this time, under Brian’s persistent and deliberate touch, and he collapses shaking against the pillows when the feeling of Brian’s hand on him tilts into uncomfortable overwhelm. 

He pulls away so they can detangle themselves, still breathing hard. Brian is blinking at him, smiling content as anything, and it hits Pat hard between the ribs that _wow_ this is really happening and _wow_ Brian is so gorgeous. He’s backed up against Pat’s rumpled blankets, and he looks so good there. Like he belongs. He has strong arms and shoulders and biteable pecs and — hah — a massive hickey at the base of his neck.

“How are you doing?” Pat asks quietly.

“Real good,” Brian says. “That was amazing. How ‘bout you?”

“Mm. Good. You — I — god, Brian, you’re fucking incredible.”

Brian beams and presses a soft kiss to Pat’s lips. Pat hums and presses his forehead to Brian’s, then pauses and pulls back with a surprised inhale.

“What?” Brian says, and then looks Pat over and says, “Oh,” and then, “Whoa.”

Brian watches in wide-eyed wonder as the thick coil of tentacle retreats back up into Pat, until there’s nothing visible of it left, just a flushed-pink slit.

“Wow,” Brian says. “That’s cool as hell. Can I touch?”

Pat huffs a laugh. “Go for it. Whatever you want,” he says, and Brian traces his fingers over where almost half an arm’s length worth of tentacle just disappeared. “Not gonna stay put for long, for sure. I don’t think it’s ever even managed to fully sheathe during this, so, uh, thanks for that. Nice to have a little reprieve.” He tugs at Brian, and Brian stops feeling up Pat’s junk and flops down on his side next to Pat, slings his arm over him.

They’re quiet for a long moment, just breathing, Pat absentmindedly running his fingers through Brian’s hair, until Brian props himself up on an elbow and looks at Pat.

“So, like, tell me more about the gender stuff.”

Pat groans. “Was your whole purpose for seducing me actually so that you could get a gender studies course about aliens?”

“_I_ seduced _you?”_

Pat raises his eyebrows. “Yes, I believe that’s the case, because otherwise you were lying to me.” His tone is light, but.

“No, I wasn’t, I swear,” Brian says quickly. “I was only teasing. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Pat says cautiously. “Because I really — I really don’t want — I mean — I’d never have asked if you didn’t _offer_ —”

Brian fumbles for Pat’s hand and squeezes it tight. “I super totally extremely promise that I’d be into you even if you weren’t — if — Pat, I like you so much,” Brian says earnestly. Pat rolls over and presses himself into Brian’s arms, tucks his face under his chin. He still feels too warm, jittery, and the physical contact between them thrums through Pat like a current. He wants him so bad it hurts, and it’s fucking miserable; even though he’s touching him _everywhere_ it doesn’t feel like enough.

“I’m so into you,” Pat says, against his chest. “I — I have been for a long time. I never said, ‘cause this is, uh. This isn’t exactly everyone’s thing.”

“It’s definitely my thing,” Brian says, running his fingers through Pat’s hair, “but more importantly, _you’re_ my thing.” There’s something about the way he says it, protective rather than flirtatious, that feels _good_.

“I am,” Pat murmurs, laying back again, pulling Brian over him, tilting his head back so Brian can get his mouth on his neck. Brian hums appreciatively, licks up Pat’s throat, and Pat shivers and tightens his arms around Brian.

“I still wanna know,” Brian says. “You can’t promise me gender talk and not follow up on it.”

“Didn’t know you were so into the subject,” Pat says.

Brian keeps kissing at him, pausing to say a few words and then going back to it like he can’t pull himself away. “Man, I’m not — like, I’m nonbinary — not totally a guy, just kinda — dude but a bit to the left.”

“Makes sense,” Pat says, on a sigh of an exhale. Brian’s mouth is on his chest, now, busying himself with testing out his hickey technique. “For me it’s, it’s, more of a matter of convenience, I guess? People read me as a man, so I just go with it. But I actually pretty much couldn’t give a shit either way. I’m not personally attached to any of it. Don’t care about pronouns as long as no one’s being an asshole about it.” He shrugs as best he can without dislodging Brian, who hums his acknowledgment.

“D’you want me to switch it up for you sometimes?” Brian asks, glancing up at him.

“Nah. I mean, like, if you want, sure, but when I say I don’t care either way I mean that literally. It doesn’t feel any more or less good or exciting to hear one versus another, and honestly I’m used to being referred to the way I am, so, ‘s all good. What about you?”

“He’s good. I’m fine with they, but not necessarily gonna seek it out, y’know? But if it happens, I certainly don’t mind.”

“Good to know,” Pat says, and kisses him. God, it feels wonderful to get his mouth against his again. Now that they’ve slowed down a little, Brian is definitely sort of — examining the sharpness of Pat’s teeth with his tongue in a manner that is not, admittedly, super sexy, but it’s kind of adorable regardless. Even so, it doesn’t take long before Pat’s dick decides it wants to get with the picture again, and Pat moans softly and rolls his hips against Brian’s thigh to encourage it. Brian makes a surprised sound and pulls back a little to look.

“Yes, okay, good job, you found my dick,” Pat says, a little breathless, and Brian rolls his eyes.

“Are you going to fuck me? I think you should fuck me, if you’re into that,” Brian says. “Because, uh, I’m _super_ into that, but if you’re not that’s totally —”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Pat says, and Brian sort of wriggles in excitement, darts back to kiss Pat.

“I’ll ride you, I think? If that’s cool? I dunno how much, uh. I dunno how much of this I can get inside me, frankly,” Brian says, stroking his fingers over the tip to make Pat draw a sharp breath. “But I’ll give it the ol’ college try, huh?”

“Ambitious,” Pat teases.

“Wow, okay, and you’re smug!”

Pat grins, pokes his tongue out the corner of his mouth. “Maybe, but why not? You like it, am I wrong?”

“So help me, I really do,” Brian says, and draws a full-body shudder out of Pat by running his hand along Pat’s dick. He inspects his hand, pondering, rubs two fingers together experimentally. “Do you even have lube?”

“No,” Pat admits, wincing. “Is this — are you — will it be okay?”

“It seems like it should be fine,” Brian says, “especially if, hm.” He pushes two fingers inside Pat — Pat’s hips jerk up off the bed — and pulls away just as soon to — _oh_.

Brian bites his lower lip in a focused-thinking expression as he works his slicked fingers into himself, drawing soft little gasps and moans as he does so, his cock hard and leaking. He is so beautiful. His face is flushed and his hair a wild mess and when he guides Pat’s dick inside him he moans as soon as even just the tip is inside. It’s probably not even as thick as Brian’s fingertip there, but Pat gets it, having someone else inside you is — it’s just — _wow_, he lifts his hips up a little and his eyes flutter shut as Pat slides in further.

“God, Pat, you feel fucking _incredible_,” Brian says, and leans forward to kiss him, slow and lingering. He’s breathing in a manner that seems deliberately even, like he’s willing his body to relax, to cooperate, to take as much of Pat as he can and then more than that. He’s right — this does feel amazing, and there’s some primal part of Pat that wants to snap his hips up and see how much of his dick he can stuff inside Brian right now immediately, but his common sense kicks that thought away because, god, he doesn’t want to hurt him, he wants this to feel as good for Brian as it does for him.

“Pat,” Brian whines, “Patrick, _fuck_, I want — I need — I wanna get all of you inside me.”

Pat runs his hand along Brian’s spine, soothing. “I know, baby. It’s okay if you can’t. Just take it slow, alright?”

“I _want_ to,” Brian says, pressing the side of his face to the side of Pat’s face, and, _ah_, right. This certainly wouldn’t be any less, uh, potent than before, probably _more_ since Pat’s actual dick is inside him instead of just the little bit he licked off his fingers before, and maybe Pat is a little more used to the particular brand of viciously horny that this makes him but it’s all new to Brian, who is whimpering over Pat, and he, fuck, he might have to take the reins for a hot second here so Brian doesn’t push himself too hard.

“Let me, baby,” Pat murmurs, kissing his temple, and Brian deigns to be guided onto his back, with Pat braced over him, pressing soft kisses to his face, his lips, his jaw, his neck. Brian whines and tries to rock his hips upward, but Pat plants a hand on his hip and holds him still. “I said, let me. I’m gonna take care of you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Brian says, and draws a shivery breath. “Feels — s’good, Pat, but not _enough_ —”

“I know,” Pat says, low and soothing as he can manage. “I know, sweetheart. I’m gonna give you what you want, I just need you to be patient. Can you do that for me?”

Brian nods, blinking up at Pat, his lips parted, his eyes wide and dark.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Pat says softly. “God, look at you. Make me feel so special.”

“You _are_,” Brian says. “You’re _mine_.” He drags Pat down into a kiss, no longer slow and searching, something new and desperate and hungry. It’s — fuck, it’s hard to focus while being kissed like that, but he has to _try_. He moves his hand from Brian’s hip to his cock, and Brian wheezes out a breath when Pat wraps his hand around him, inhales it back slow and shaky. “Oh _god_ okay, holy shit, I get why you came that fast the first time,” Brian says, voice tight.

“Does it feel good?”

“So fucking good,” Brian gasps. “Please, Patrick, I want — I _want_.”

“I got you, baby. I got you,” Pat says, stroking Brian’s cock slowly as he trembles all over.

“You said — _ah_ — you said I’d get to see what it’s like when you come, can you — will you — please?”

“Yes,” Pat says, “yes, for sure, absolutely.”

Brian pulls him in to kiss him again. “Do it _soon_, then,” he says, his voice rough, “I don’t think I’m gonna last long.” He gives a sheepish twist of a smile and Pat kisses him again, again, again, as he takes his hand off Brian’s cock — Brian whines — and slips his fingers into himself, needing something to bear down on to get him there. Brian persistently rocks his hips up, trying his damndest to take more of Pat’s dick, and doing an admittedly impressive job; his face is flushed and sweaty, his eyes squeezed shut, gasping openmouthed as Pat fucks his fingers into himself, as he tries not to slam his hips forward into Brian, into the tight heat of him that feels so, so, so fucking _good_ that he can hardly stand it.

“Please, Pat,” Brian groans, “come for me, _please_.”

It’s honestly obscene, the slick sounds that Pat’s fingers make as he thrusts them into himself, drops his head down against Brian’s shoulder and chases the feeling, doesn’t let up even though his hands are shaky and he’s panting and he’s so close, he’s so close, he’s whining and it’s another one of those sounds he tries not to make because it’s so uncannily not human but he can’t stop it, he can’t stop, he needs, he’s —

He comes, his hips twitching, his dick spasming and twisting deep inside Brian, who wails, whose hands drop to his own cock to jerk himself frantically, his desperate movements drawing more sensation from Pat, who’s sensitive but not _badly_. When Brian comes, his whole body reacts; he cries out a thick wordless shout and then collapses back against the sheets, looking up at Pat as Pat’s dick slides out of him, as Pat’s come leaks out of him.

Pat sits back on his heels and looks down at himself, at the mess of Brian’s come and his own slick up his front.

“Oh, Jesus, sorry,” Brian says, and Pat just laughs.

“It’s all good, babe. Was that — was it good? Was it what you were hoping for?” He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, suddenly; it’s not like Brian’s been scared off so far.

Brian pushes himself into a sitting position to kiss Pat softly. “Yeah. It was great. You’re great.” He kisses Pat again, like he can’t help it. “I think we should take an intermission to clean up and maybe eat something, and then we can see how you’re feeling? Does it seem like — where are you at on the whole, uh, situation?”

“It’s definitely not over yet,” Pat says, with a wry smile; his dick does not want to put itself away, and is instead retreating very slowly. If he was to anthropomorphize it, he would call it grumpy, but he’s not going to do that. It’s got enough of a mind of its own as it is, the way it moves on its own and it takes, like, genuine concentrated focus for Pat to do anything particularly crafty on purpose. He still, quite frankly, wouldn’t mind pushing something inside himself for something to appease that empty feeling, but more than that he really just wants to clean up. Which is a really good sign, actually. “But I want a shower.”

“Good plan,” says Brian. “I’ll, uh. Do you want some space?”

“Probably. I’ll get too distracted if you’re in there with me,” Pat teases. Brian smiles, and Pat kisses his cheek.

They circle up again — Pat says those words and Brian doubles over laughing, a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair still damp and falling in his face — once they’re both clean and fed. Pat has been wriggling around uncomfortably for the past half-hour, wet enough that he can feel it on his inner thighs, with the towel doing nothing for his modesty as the tentacle of his dick unsheathes again. Brian lays him out on the bed again, and presses close to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until Pat’s a whimpery mess.

“Please touch me, oh my _god_,” Pat says, and Brian exhales a laugh against his lips and sits up.

“I can’t believe how fucking good you look like this,” Brian says, as he sits himself between Pat’s knees. “Who gave you the right. This is fucking _beautiful_,” he says, stroking his fingers up Pat’s dick, watching the way it follows his hand, seeking the contact. “Feels fucking incredible, too. I’m gonna take the whole thing sometime, just you wait.”

“I look forward to it,” Pat says, in a tone that would be casual if it wasn’t rough with desire. “Hey, uh.”

“Mm?”

“Were you,” Pat starts, stutters a moment as Brian drags his fingers up the length of him, “were you joking about tying me up, or.”

Brian’s eyes go wider for a moment. “Would you really let me do that?” he asks softly.

Pat licks his lips. Nods. “I mean,” he says, “so long as you don’t mind me fuckin’ screaming again, then, like, _please_ go for it. Do you know — fuck, Brian, do you know how hard I have to work for it, when I do this by myself? I go sit in the bathtub and fucking cry from — from how bad I need it. Nothing _does_ it for me unless I can get someone else’s come in me, and. And I guess what I’m saying is, being able to let someone else do it for me? It’s really — fuck, that’s all I want.”

“Oh, sweet thing,” Brian croons, tracing his fingers over Pat’s cheek. “Let me take care of you. You got cuffs? Ropes? A preference?”

“Top drawer,” Pat says, inclining his head towards the dresser. “See if there’s anything else that interests you.”

Brian opens the drawer and immediately goes _ooh!_ in excitement, then fully gasps and picks up the tentacle dildo and stares between it and Pat, looking like he can’t decide whether to laugh or be horny about it.

“Look,” Pat says, “you gotta do what you gotta do,” and the scales tip for Brian in favor of laughter. “We can play with it another time, though, if you want.” Brian grins and gently sets it back in the drawer to keep poking around.

He has cuffs, no ropes, though the latter seems like a worthwhile investment, especially if this is going to be a recurring thing. He has so many _ideas_, suddenly, of all the ways Brian could immobilize him and fuck him stupid.

Brian dawdles a little more, like he’s inspecting everything Pat’s got, before he finally returns to hook Pat up to the headboard by his wrists.

“You’d look so pretty all tied up, too,” Brian murmurs, stroking his hands down Pat’s torso. “How’d you like that, sometime?”

“I’d love it,” Pat says, raw and needy. “Tie my legs so I can’t move, just keep me open, _fuck_, good Lord I want you inside me.”

“_Gosh_, Pat,” Brian breathes. He presses his palm to Pat’s stomach, feeling the rise and fall of his harsh breathing. “Maybe I’ll run by my apartment at some point and grab some of my shit, hm?”

“Yeah, fuck, sure, just don’t _leave_ me,” Pat says, hips twitching as the dark coil of tentacle lashes against his thigh, as he tries to find something to get friction on, except for the fact that there’s nothing available. “Not to be blunt, but like, I need you to fuck me, like, yesterday, so if you wouldn’t mind —”

Brian laughs, and Pat manages a wry smile. Brian gets Pat by the thighs and shifts him down the bed a little, so that between his hands over his head and the grip Brian has on him, he can’t really — he can’t really _move_. Even if he were to thrash around he wouldn’t get much purchase, because Pat knows firsthand that Brian’s stronger than he looks and could keep him down if he wanted to, but more than that he’s balanced sort of on the back of his ass with his legs splayed out and held up. Brian’s cock slides into him with no further fanfare, and Pat grunts and clenches around him, grateful to finally be full of something, and Brian moans and closes his eyes.

“_Fuck_,” Brian groans. “You feel so fucking good around me. Like you’re — like you’re fucking made to take me. I wanna stay inside you, just like this, keep you open and ready and stretched around me, keep you stuffed full of my cock. Keep coming inside you ‘till you’re satisfied.”

Pat whines and tries to roll his hips, but Brian holds him still. “You like that, baby?”

“Yes,” Pat half-sobs. “I need it. I need you. Please — _please_. All I want is to be full of you. All the time. Fuckin’ — _please_.”

“You got me, baby,” Brian says, wrapping thumb and forefinger around the tentacle that coils and thrashes against Pat’s belly, and sliding the tight circle up and down until Pat whimpers. “I’m right here. Tell me what you want.”

Pat squeezes his eyes shut. “I wanna — I wanna get fuckin’ bred, want you to tie me down and have your way with me whenever the fuck you want, want to always have something stuffed inside me so I never have to feel empty like that — _ah_ — want you to fill me with your come ‘till I — _fuck_ — ‘till I can’t take any more. ‘N keep going after that until I’m _crying_, until I know I never have to be empty again.”

“You want me to fuck you until your belly is swollen with my come?” Brian says, his voice soft, a little rough, and Pat sobs and nods and bucks his hips up against him. “Oh, baby boy, you’d look so beautiful like that,” he says, gentle, almost reverent, and moves a hand to rest on Pat’s stomach.

Pat grunts and arches his back into the touch, to try to take him deeper — which is not, as it happens, even physically possible — and blinks open an eye to look at Brian, who is looking at him so earnestly.

“Question for you?”

“Sure,” Pat says, “whatever you wanna ask, go for it, I’m just _oh my fuck Brian jesus christ_ maybe not at my most eloquent right now.”

“Hah! Fair. So, uh, like, you’ve said that when your heats hit, that this is the way you feel — how you, uh, how you like it to go — like, like you want to get fucked instead of doing the fucking, yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” Pat says. Trying to put words together with Brian fucking him like this is a challenge, good Lord. “Comes down to personal preference, I’m pretty sure. Deep down, or, uh, maybe not so deep down, guess that’s what I want. Some people will be good either way, or switch back ‘n forth, and some people will wanna put their dick in someone, which, by the way, is not fucking fair, because it’s way easier to get off like that than trying to get — fuck — get something like this, and so I re — reiterate that I have to work _so fucking hard_ for it. I’unno what triggers the preference. If I suddenly became a top maybe it’d switch. Or maybe it wouldn’t. No fucking clue.”

“So I should shut up and pound you into the bed?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you?”

Brian drops his head forward and thrusts deep and hard into Pat, repetitive and fast and almost enough to get the tension to drop out of Pat, would that he could just lay back and take it, but he’s far too keyed up.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Brian says.

“More,” Pat says. “Tell me how you’re gonna — I wanna — fill me, _please_. ‘M so empty. Want you to fuck me full of your come ‘till I’m swollen with it.”

“_Jesus_,” Brian bites out, “_Christ_, Patrick Gill. Oh, fuck, baby, if there was any way that was possible I _would_, believe you me. I want to watch your skinny little belly fill up with my come, watch as your body tries to stretch around it, tries to fit all of it, watch you writhe and beg and plead for me, for _more_, even when you don’t think you can take it you still want it. God, that moment when you’re so full just like this, not showing yet, and I don’t think you can take any more but I come in you again and your belly starts to swell, and just like that I _know_ how much more you can take. How much do you think you can get inside you? How much of me can you hold?”

“All of it. Anything,” Pat gasps. There’s tears leaking from his eyes, relief and joy and desire and gratitude and the indescribable feeling of getting everything he’s ever wanted all at once. “Everything you want to give me. I’ll take it. I swear. I’ll be so good for you. All yours. Promise.”

“I know you will, baby. You’re so, so good. Doing so well for me. You take me so nice and pretty. I’m gonna take such good care of you, sweet thing. Give you everything you want. Gonna fuck all that tension out of you. Want you to relax and lay back and just feel, just take it, and not have to worry about getting there, ‘cause I’m gonna take you where you want to go. Wanna make you trust that I’m gonna get you right where you need to be. Close your eyes if you like, baby. I got you. I’m right here.”

It’s this, and not the absolute filth from before, that manages to push Pat over the edge, with shuddering gasping breaths, spasming around Brian. He goes limp after he comes, this time, breathing hard, but Brian’s face is still flushed and he _def_ hasn’t come yet. “Go on,” Pat says, breathless, “keep going. I can take it.”

Brian’s fingers dig into Pat’s hips as he thrusts into him with desperate abandon. Pat’s body makes a valiant effort to get going again, with a weak twitch from his still-unsheathed dick, but it’s like Brian spoke it into existence: all Pat can manage right now is to let Brian’s movements shift him on the bed and drag little grunts and moans out of him until Brian’s breathing stutters and he thrusts in deep and groans and comes.

Something deep inside Pat is finally appeased, at this. He feels himself settle, like the part of him that’s been strung taut with desperation finally relaxes. Brian collapses down on top of Pat, his soft cock still inside him. He kisses Pat’s chin and sighs. “Fuck, baby,” he says.

“Mm_hmm_,” Pat hums, blinking at him slowly. “Sure did. Can I have my hands back or nah?”

“Oh! Of course!” Brian says, and scrambles up to accomplish that. His cock slips out of Pat and Pat makes a sad little sound at the loss, but even so, there’s no claw of desire that rakes into his gut in response. When his hands are free, he slides bonelessly down against the pillows and curls himself around a still-sitting Brian. “Hey, you,” Brian says, tracing his fingers over Pat’s shoulder.

“Nnh,” is Pat’s very considered and articulate response. “‘M done, I think.”

“For now, or the whole thing?”

“The whole thing, I think. I hope,” Pat mumbles into Brian’s thigh. “Sorry. Bet I wore you out.”

“No worries, baby, I’m good. That hormone shit really works, huh?”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

Brian strokes Pat’s hair. “I know we already showered, but. Do you want to go get cleaned up?”

“You saying I’m gross?” Pat grumbles, mock-affronted, and huffs out a laugh at Brian’s lack of response. “Yeah, fuck, we both are. I wanna pass the hell out for, like, a solid week, but shit, yeah, I guess. Hug me first?”

Brian tugs Pat up into a sitting position and Pat drapes his arms over his shoulders. Brian wraps his arms around Pat’s midsection and hugs him tight, and some jittery anxiety leaches out of him at the touch. Boy, they’re going to have a lot of talking to do, but god, he’s so fucking tired.

He wheedles Brian into helping him change the sheets, once they’ve re-showered, and then they curl up beneath the blankets together. Pat tucks his head under Brian’s chin, his arm over Brian’s waist, as Brian pets at him.

He’s fully prepared to talk, to field the conversations that he knows they’re going to have to have, but he closes his eyes and between one breath and the next, he is asleep.

* * *

Pat wakes up to morning light in his apartment. He’s alone in his bed, but by nature of the studio apartment setup, he can see Brian in the kitchen. He’s wearing a pair of Pat’s sweatpants and no shirt, his throat and chest bitten-bruised, and he’s poking around in the cupboards.

“Looking for something?” Pat rasps, and Brian jerks in surprise.

“Jesus _Christ_ you startled me. Good morning, Pat! Where do you keep your mugs?”

“You’re just one too far to the left, I think,” Pat says. Brian opens the next cabinet to his right and scoffs at himself. “You would’ve gotten there at some point. Are you making coffee?”

“I’m trying to,” Brian says. “I was gonna be cute and have it ready for you when you woke up.”

“You’re plenty cute as it stands,” Pat says, and Brian beams. “How are you doing?”

“Fuckin’ great, honestly. A little sore, pretty tired, but, like, _good_. How about you?”

“God, Brian, I’m just so fucking glad to feel like a normal person right now,” Pat says. He pushes the blankets off himself and gets out of bed — even without his glasses on, he doesn’t miss how Brian fully checks him out — to put on some pants and join Brian in the kitchen. He sidles up behind Brian and wraps his arms around him, tucks his chin into his shoulder. Brian twists to give Pat a smooch, and reaches up to touch his cheek.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Brian says. “I bet that’s… stressful.”

“You have no fuckin’ idea,” Pat sighs. “I’m not exaggerating when I say it’d be a week out of my life otherwise.”

“Good grief,” Brian says. He turns around in Pat’s arms and cups Pat’s face in his hands. “You were so — keyed up, jeez. It’s like that every time?”

“Yeah. I — thank you for helping. Seriously.”

Something in Brian’s expression shifts. “Of course, Pat,” he says softly. “Anytime. Anything you want.”

Pat hugs him tighter. Brian holds him just as close, winds a hand into Pat’s hair, his other arm around Pat’s back. He’s so warm — Pat’s pretty sure that without the temporary raise in temperature, Pat’s baseline runs a little cooler than Brian’s — and his arms are strong and he’s solid and steady against Pat and Pat never wants to let go of him.

“I’m sorry,” Pat says. “I know it’s — weird. I know I was kind of a lot —”

“Patrick, c’mon,” Brian says, pulling back a little to look at him. “Gimme a break. I _enjoyed_ it. I mean, like, it sucks that you have to go through this shit, of course it does, and that you’ve had to do it alone until now, but — seriously. I’ve been into you for approximately a zillion years. I’m honored that you trust me enough to have done that with me, and even if…” He bites his lip. “Even if you’re gonna call it off after this, if it’s just the, the one-and-done sort of thing, I’m glad we did it. Which is, maybe, selfish, but. Fuck. I like you so much? I like you so much.”

“You want to stick around.” This is a question, but Pat is too stunned to even tilt his tone upwards.

“Yeah,” Brian says softly, and traces his fingers over Pat’s cheek. “Of course I do. If you’ll have me, anyway.”

“Of _course_,” Pat says back, quietly, fervently. “I want that more than anything.”

Brian surges up to kiss him, and Pat holds on tight. They don’t kiss for long — Lord, Pat is worn the fuck out — but Brian tucks his face against Pat’s shoulder and Pat runs his fingers through Brian’s hair, quietly appreciating the feeling of being pressed chest-to-chest, skin-to-skin, able to feel the rise and fall of Brian’s breathing.

Fuck work. Today’s for aftercare, for naps and cuddles, to hold each other in the quiet of the morning and revel in being alive and present and together. For Brian to press whisper-soft kisses to Pat’s skin, exploring gently and sweetly, just enough to feel wonderful, but not too much for Pat’s exhausted body. For Pat to pull Brian close and press his lips to the top of his head. For them to stay in the hazy perfect warmth of the apartment, counterpoint to the new-winter stillness outdoors, and do nothing but revel in the new wonder of this thing, the way the future ravels out in front of them now, intertwined.

**Author's Note:**

> happy halloween to all you monsterheckers out there


End file.
